Double Clouds

Eighty-five minutes on a beach bicycle

In a refreshing rain, searching, researching, re-con, retreats,

Against the grain, perpendicular, through paths,

Three streets, thirty seconds,

Thinking like a criminal…


Onto the beach where there are in the vast horizon

two sets of clouds for my pleasure

The nearest is higher and stretches the entire canvas

Like a gray string of senseless cursive letters

taking the form of circus animals and profiles

attached, to the south, is a mass that carries

a storm which grumbles continually yet harmlessly.

Far, far beyond that group

are sporadically-placed cumulus cotton balls

that still enjoy the pleasure of the shining sun

Somewhere between those double clouds,

With wind and rain pelting me, my legs burning

My thoughts go to the heavens and farther south and west

And I ask myself the question, if I had a novel

that explores racial hatred and racial harmony,

would now be the best time or the worst time

To release it?

© 2016



The warrior runner ignores the pain

And pushes on.

The gentle woman educates children for a lifetime

And pushes on.

The warrior runner charts miles month after month, year after year

And pushes on.

The gentle woman smiles warmly, treating people kindly, as only she can

And pushes on.

The warrior runner fights off injury from pounding the pavement

And pushes on.

The gentle woman lovingly cares for her elderly mother

And pushes on.

The warrior runner wants only to save some cherished mementos

And pushes on.

The uncaring water rises fast, enters her home

And pushes on.